


no matter the distance i'm holding your hand

by hihoplastic



Category: The Worst Witch (TV 2017)
Genre: Episode Tag, F/F, Post S2E2: The Friendship Trap, Post S2E3: Ethel Everywhere, Post s2e1: Tortoise Trouble, nothing graphic, tw: some discussion of past emotional abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-09
Updated: 2018-01-30
Packaged: 2019-03-02 14:42:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13320330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hihoplastic/pseuds/hihoplastic
Summary: Pippa eyes the heavy set of Hecate’s shoulders, the stiff line of her neck, and almost dreads asking, “How was your first day back?”





	1. 'Tortoise Trouble'

**Author's Note:**

> \- Post ep tag for S2E1 Tortoise Trouble  
> \- Inspired by the discourse on Tumblr, particularly @matildaswan's tags  
> \- This is the most dialogue I've written for them ever IDEK  
> \- Title from Vienna Teng's "Harbor"

Pippa eyes the heavy set of Hecate’s shoulders, the stiff line of her neck, and almost dreads asking.

“How was your first day back?”

Hecate purses her lips and looks even more tense than she had moments ago, and Pippa tries not to bite her lip in worry.

“Well…” Hecate says slowly, leaning back slightly in her chair. “Mildred Hubble brought down the entire East Wing of the castle, and we were forced to rearrange living arrangements for half the student body. The remains of Agatha’s annihilation spell are still in the walls, and we’ve begun sorting through it stone by stone. Consequently, we discovered the Founding Stone beneath the rubble, and I doubt much good will come of that in the long run. And Ethel Hallow plagiarized her break project from Mildred Hubble.”

Pippa stares at her, unable to keep her lips together, and shakes her head. “Hiccup, that's… All on the first day?”

Hecate nods, fingers drumming against the table the way she always does when she’s nervous, and Pippa wishes she could reach through the mirror and touch her hand.

“I have a feeling it's going to be a repeat of last year in turns of total chaos.”

Pippa smiles wanely. “At least no one was hurt?”

“No, thankfully. But with Agatha’s spells still in the walls, there’s no telling what could happen over time. I should have known it wouldn't be so easy.”

“Why? You reversed it - you had no reason to suspect otherwise.”

Hecate snorts delicately, lips curling in almost a sneer. “No. I should have known Agatha wouldn't be so easily thwarted. I should have checked the walls and—”

“You did everything you could, Hecate,” Pippa says gently.

“I've been hearing that a lot lately.”

“Well, Ada’s right. From what you told me, you made impossibly difficult choices while Agatha was in charge. You're not to blame for what happened, with that or the East Wing.” Pippa sighs at Hecate’s unconvinced expression. “You're too hard on yourself, Hiccup.”

Her answer is immediate, gaze flickering down and away and Pippa feels her heart lurch at the gesture. “I'm sorry. I don't mean to burden you—”

“That's not what I said,” Pippa corrects gently. “I only meant you should cut yourself some slack. You're only one witch, as brilliant as you may be. You can't solve everything.”

“No, but I should be able to keep one pupil from wreaking havoc on the entire student body.”

“You mentioned Ethel,” Pippa teases, relieved when Hecate merely rolls her eyes.

“Yes, her too.”

“What happened, exactly?”

“Evidentially she left her own project behind and thought it necessary to steal Mildred’s.”

Pippa arches an eyebrow, thinks of her own students, her own response to such a situation. “Will she be expelled?”

If anything, the question makes Hecate look even more dour. “Of course not. She’s a Hallow.”

Pippa nods knowingly. “Her parents are on the board.”

“Indeed. Lines and detention are the worst consequences that girl will ever see.”

“You don't sound pleased about that.”

Hecate waves her hand, a careless gesture that suggests far more agitation than she’s letting on. “I'm tired of this ridiculous feud between her and Mildred Hubble. We nearly had to take a tortoise at its word to get to the bottom of it.”

“Oh, Hiccup. How did—” Pippa frowns. “Did you say a tortoise?”

“Ethel—” She stops, corrects herself with a grimace, “ _Mildred’s_ project. She made the animals speak.”

“Hecate, that's—that's amazing!”

Hecate sighs. “A headache, is what it was,” she mutters, then, grudgingly, “Though I suppose it was somewhat impressive.”

“Why do you sound so surprised? Mildred’s a very powerful witch.”

“With absolutely no control,” Hecate says curtly. “She's a danger to herself and to the entire student body.”

Pippa stares at her a moment through the glass. She wants to argue the point, but Hecate looks so tense, almost frazzled, and she doesn't want to make it worse. What she wants is to appear in Hecate’s bedroom with an bowl of soup and some tea and force her to relax, even for an hour.

But she's needed at her own school, so for the time being the mirror chats will have to do, and she's never been one to let things go so with a soft exhale, Pippa steels herself and says,

“So teach her.”

Hecate blinks. “Excuse me?”

“She needs a teacher, Hecate. A tutor. Someone to work with her one on one, to help her understand the Craft and how to control her magic.”

To her surprise, Hecate seems to consider her words, and Pippa takes it as a good sign. “Perhaps. I suppose Ada could—”

“I'm not talking about Ada, I'm talking about you.” At that, Hecate startles, looks shocked and blindsided and Pippa has to bite down the urge to smile at the near comical expression. “Hecate, you're the most powerful witch I know. You're also the most disciplined. You cast spells perfectly without a thought.”

Hecate sits a little more primly, and Pippa resists the urge to roll her eyes.  “I’m dedicated to the Craft.”

“Yes, you are. And Mildred could be, too, if you show her how.”

Hecate arches an eyebrow in disbelief. “You want me to spend extra hours outside of class...with Mildred Hubble.”

“You've done it for students in the past, you said so yourself. You trained Esmeralda Hallow—”

“Miss Hallow already had significant training and control,” Hecate interrupts. “I expanded her teachings beyond the books, that's all. I didn't start from scratch.”

“Mildred is hardly scratch, Hecate,” Pippa retorts, unable to keep the scolding tone out of her voice. “She may be from a non-magical family but that's no reason to treat her like she’s less than her peers. She’s proven more than once that she's capable of marvelous things, and instead of encouraging her you keep belittling her. It's hardly fair.”

She regrets it as soon as she says it—or rather, regrets the way she says it, regrets the way Hecate seems to shut down, her face blank, but Pippa knows it’s only to hide the hurt.  The shame.

“How I deal with my students is really none of your concern,” she says stiffly, an attempt at hauty that falls flat and Pippa sighs.

“No, I suppose it isn't.”

It’s silent for a moment, and Pippa watches the flicker of emotions across Hecate’s face, too quick to read. She doesn’t know what to say to ease the sudden tension, doesn’t know why she thought this line of conversation would be any help in the first place, but she’s still startled when Hecate finally speaks, eyes downcast.

“You're angry,” she observes—incorrectly, of course, and Pippa hates the way Hecate feels like every disagreement needs to be a source of contention. Hates the way she can’t distinguish between gentle criticism and anger, the way she was taught to associate the two. She wishes, not for the first time, she could soundly punch whoever instilled that fear in her—fear that any step out of line, any hint of wrongdoing would be met with rejection and rage.

She wishes she were _there,_  could wrap her arm around Hecate’s shoulder or take her hands and make her understand that she isn’t going anywhere, ever, and certainly not over this.

“No, Hecate,” she murmurs, offering a smile. “I'm just… I’m worried. About you.” Hecate looks up at that, brows creased in a frown.

“Me?”

Pippa nods. “You need to stop punishing yourself for things beyond your control. And,” she adds, even softer, “Maybe it’s time to stop punishing Mildred for being so similar.”

“Similar?” she parrots, and Pippa does roll her eyes this time.

“Come on, Hecate. Bright and promising, friendly young witch befriends the awkward, lanky but brilliant one with too much power and no outlet for it?” She raises her eyebrows and lets Hecate fill in the gaps, knows she understands when Hecate flushes slightly and looks away briefly.

“I had an outlet.”

Pippa smirks. “Yes, I distinctly remember your Sunday ritual of sneaking off into the fields to blow up teacups with your mind.”

“With my mi—honestly, Pippa.”

Pippa waves her off. “You know what I mean.”

Hecate narrows her eyes, fingers resuming their drumming on the table absently. “ _I_ never hurt anyone. I never endangered the entire school—”

“Of course not,” Pippa sighs. “But you can't deny the similarities—magical control aside,” she allows, before Hecate can interrupt. “Mildred deserves to be at Cackle’s, Hecate, just as you deserved to be at our school, regardless of what anyone else told you.”

Hecate looks like she wants to argue, but doesn’t. “I just worry,” she says finally, her voice heavy, shoulders sagging. “With Agatha’s spell still destroying the castle, and the toll it's taken on Ada, I just feel…” She tries, Pippa can tell, to explain. To put into words the undoubted torrent of emotions she’s trying desperately to keep under wraps, and Pippa’s heart flips at the sight, proud of her for trying, even when all she manages is a sigh, and a repeated, “I just worry.”

“I know,” Pippa murmurs. “But maybe helping Mildred would help with that, too. If you weren't so concerned about her…”

Hecate nearly scoffs. “I'm always concerned about her.”

“Then why not work with her?” Pippa tries again, a bit kinder this time. “It's not because she's new to all this. So what's really stopping you?”

Hecate doesn’t answer for a long minute, but Pippa’s learned to be patient. Learned that Hecate needs time to process her own emotions, to sort through her thoughts. Knows she needs time to consider what to say and how to say it, how any conversation about emotions or feelings renders her nearly helpless with frustration. Pippa’s more than willing to give her the time she needs, just waits in the quiet, and finally, Hecate’s shoulders shift forward slightly, and she lets out a quiet sigh.

“The frog.”

It isn’t what Pippa expected her to say at all, and she has to bite back a bark of laughter, knows it wouldn’t end well. “Frog?”

“When it spoke, it—it called me a monster.”

Her amusement dies instantly.

She remembers Hecate’s heard that before, from another student way back when. She can’t quite recall why now, though it doesn’t matter—all she remembers is the way Hecate’s eyes had widened, the wet sheen to them as she stiffened, entire body taut. The way she had acted like it didn’t matter, that she didn’t care, and Pippa seemed to be the only one who could tell it did—it mattered so much, hurt her so much.  

She doesn’t want to remind Hecate of that, though she doubts she’s forgotten.  Doesn’t want to add to the weight behind her eyes, and settles for a halfhearted, gentle, “In fairness, you do use them for parts, as do I. I hardly think it's an unbiased point of view.”

It doesn’t work—of course, it doesn’t work—and it takes Hecate another moment to admit, “Mildred cast the spell out of anger. You know very well that can have an impact on—”

She can’t quite stop the gasp of surprise. “You think Mildred thinks you're a monster?” Hecate doesn’t answer, and Pippa leans even closer to the mirror, reaching for it—for Hecate—before she remembers. “Hecate, the girl admires you. She's only afraid of disappointing you, not you yourself.”

“I—I don't…” Hecate swallows, then says, her voice so quiet, “I don’t want to be her.”

Pippa frowns. “Mildred?” Hecate doesn’t answer, and it hits her so hard she feels winded. “Miss Broomhead.”

Hecate flinches at the very name, and Pippa wishes desperately she could grasp Hecate’s face in her hands, could make her look at her and see the truth in her eyes when she says, “Hecate, listen to me—you are not, and could never be like that woman.”

Her voice cracks. “Aren't I?”

“ _No_ ,” she insists. “From what you've told me, she was a cruel, vile woman whose only pleasure in life was making others miserable. You're hard on your students, but they know it's because you care.” When Hecate doesn’t respond, doesn’t agree or raise her head, Pippa reaches forward and touches her hand to the mirror. “You're _nothing_ like her, Hecate. You’re so much smarter, and so much kinder, and so much _better_.”

Hecate stares at her, eyes bright, lower lip trembling, and Pippa feels a surge of white hot rage at everyone who’s ever done her harm. Anyone who’s ever made her feel she wasn’t worth _everything_ , the way she is to Pippa. She’d do anything, she knows, for Hecate to believe her—to understand that she isn’t just being kind, isn’t saying what should be said, that she believes it with her whole heart.  Believes in Hecate’s goodness, above all else.

She wishes she could tell her that. Wishes she could hold her and run her fingers through Hecate’s hair and whisper kindness in her ears, until she forgets every horrible thing she’s ever heard. Wishes, so hard it makes her chest ache, that she could be more for Hecate.  Be everything.

But she knows she can’t—not yet. Hecate, for all her posturing, is hardly accustomed to friendship, let alone anything else. She doesn’t read into it when Pippa reaches for her hand, or brushes her shoulder against Hecate’s, or invites her to stay the night. Pippa knows—or suspects, rather—that Hecate returns her feelings, but there’s time yet. She’s in no hurry.  She’ll go at Hecate’s pace, no matter how long she has to wait.

For now, she simply holds her breath, and smiles brightly when Hecate tentatively presses her hand to the mirror, over Pippa’s.

Content that Hecate’s heard her, even if she doesn’t fully believe, Pippa tilts her head and continues lightly, “Besides, if Mildred’s going to learn anything, you're the best person for the job. Goodness knows Miss Bat wouldn't be much help, lovely as she is.”

Hecate’s lips quirk, just a little, and Pippa considers it a triumph. “I suppose.”

“You’ll think about it?”

Hecate nods slowly. “I’ll consider it.”

“Good. Are we still on for tea this weekend?”

Hecate blinks, thrown by the change in subject, and withdraws her hand from the mirror, settling it in her lap, out of sight. “Provided the whole school doesn't disintegrate by then.”

Pippa smirks. “You'd never let it.”

“True. The cleanup would be far too much effort.”

Pippa laughs softly and shakes her head.  “There’s my Hecate,” she says, unthinking, possessive, delighted when Hecate ducks her head and smiles, a flush over her cheekbones, and Pippa wonders if perhaps the time to tell her how she really feels might be sooner than she thinks.

 


	2. 'The Friendship Trap'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pippa chews on her lower lip and tries to think of something to say to break the silence between them, something helpful, something relaxing. How are you seems like a minefield these days, and she can’t tell if Hecate wants to talk about it and simply doesn’t know how, or if she’s closed off completely. If this is going to be one of those meetings where Pippa tries and tries and tries and Hecate remains tight lipped and guarded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- post episode for S2E2, "The Friendship Trap."  
> \- apparently I'm just gonna keep doing these because they keep feeling necessary?  
> \- thank you to @raumolirien for the beta! <3

“Thank you for coming here,” Hecate says as she takes Pippa’s coat and hat and broom and transfers them away. “I know we said we’d meet at yours, but—”

“It's not a problem. It was lovely weather for a flight.”

Hecate nods stiffly. “Good. Tea?”

Pippa accepts, watches as Hecate pours two cups from the pot by hand—odd, as she usually uses magic for everything—and passes Pippa a cup and saucer wordlessly. Pippa follows her lead, settling into a second chair across from the fireplace, and does her best to keep her eyes on Hecate instead of the room.

But Hecate isn’t looking at her, staring down into her cup, a slight frown marring her face, and Pippa wants to kiss it away.  

Banishing the thought, she takes a moment to look around. Hecate’s bedchambers are functional—a bed with a black duvet, a desk, large bookshelves spanning the walls. There are few personal effects, but it somehow still feels like _her_. Still feels safe and warm, the way Pippa always feels in her presence, or always had when they were young.

Their interactions now are still tinged with awkwardness, both unsure of themselves, Hecate most of all.

She knows something’s happened—can read it in the lines on Hecate’s face, in the way she holds herself, the way she hasn’t yet smiled.

She always smiles for Pippa.

Over the summer months, when the spent so much time together, relearning and pushing boundaries and fumbling their way back into a real friendship, every time Hecate saw her for the first time, her face would soften. Lips curved up, head ducked, as if she had to hide the simple pleasure of seeing someone she cares for. Maybe even loves.

Pippa chews on her lower lip and tries to think of something to say to break the silence between them, something helpful, something relaxing. _How are you_ seems like a minefield these days, and she can’t tell if Hecate wants to talk about it and simply doesn’t know how, or if she’s closed off completely. If this is going to be one of those meetings where Pippa tries and tries and tries and Hecate remains tight lipped and guarded.

She’s trying to accept those times, to understand where Hecate is coming from, but she has to admit the hot and cold takes its toll on her; that sometimes she isn’t sure she can do this, again, let herself be taken in only to be pushed away.

“I’m sorry,” Hecate says abruptly, setting her tea on the coffee table between them, hands recoiling into her lap. “I don’t appear to be much company these days.”

Pippa’s heart stutters, and she’s reminded again why she tries so hard—because beneath it all, Hecate is trying, too.

“You’re always good company,” Pippa says, at once a bit too honest and not at all, and Hecate finally looks up, arching an eyebrow. Pippa chuckles. “Alright,” she amends. “Maybe not to everyone. But it’s just me.”

Hecate eyes her curiously, like she doesn’t completely understand the words, like it’s another language she’s trying to parse. She shakes her head and picks up her tea.

“How are things at Pentangle’s?”

The question is a bit stilted, but there’s something buried there, something that sounds an awful lot like pride whenever Hecate says the name of her school, her name, and Pippa flushes with warmth.

“Oh, the usual,” she says, and at Hecate’s open expression, talks about the changes to the curriculum they’ve implemented and how it’s been working out; she talks about her troublesome students, the fight in the commons last Tuesday that resulted in four detentions, two letters home, and a sizable headache. She talks about her new Spell Science Mistress, a young, new teacher with a lot of gumption and very little experience, and as she talks Hecate listens, interjects at places, offers her own dry commentary that makes Pippa smirk.

It feels good, she realizes, halfway through recounting the first years’ first broomstick lessons. Feels wonderful to have someone to talk to about things outside of her staff—someone she can be honest with, about her worries, her fears, her excitement. She doesn’t have to hedge her words, doesn’t have to put a spin on anything or wear a particular face for a particular audience.

She has other friends, of course—girls from school she’s kept in touch with, others she’s made along the way. But there’s always been something about Hecate that was more. At the time, she didn’t know what it was, considered it a trait only _best friends_ had; now she knows better. Knows why she looks for approval in Hecate’s eyes, why she delights in the smallest of smiles, why she values her opinion above all others.

It makes her chest feel tight sometimes, how much she cares what Hecate thinks of her. What she’s doing, her choices, her ideas. But she admires that Hecate is always honest. She doesn’t always couch her words the way Pippa would, is perhaps _too_ straightforward at times, but Pippa knows, at least with her, it’s never ill intentioned.

Which is why she startles at the disgust in Hecate’s voice when she mentions she’s been considering hiring a French teacher.

“They hardly need another distraction from their studies,” Hecate says, nearly rolling her eyes.

It stings, but Pippa ignores it, takes a long sip of her tea before saying pointedly, “It’s not a distraction. Speaking a second language has been shown to improve cognitive function. It helps students multitask better, improves problem solving and decision making skills.”

“But it has nothing to do with Craft.”

Pippa snorts.  “Tell that to the French. You can’t tell me you don’t see the benefit in being able to cast spells in more than one language, Miss I Spoke Latin by the Time I Was Three.”

“Six,” Hecate corrects. “And Latin is practical. Many important texts necessary to the study of witching history are written in Latin.”

“And translated into English.”

“Not all of them.”

“ _Most_ of them,” Pippa counters. “So why bother? If it’s such a waste of time.”

Hecate huffs. “You do realize I didn’t actually have a choice in learning another language.”

“You would have anyway,” PIppa says confidently, and, at Hecate’s frown, grins. “You always were an overachiever.”

“Yes,” Hecate drawls, “how terrible of me for wanting to learn things.”

“Things related to the Craft,” Pippa teases, mimicking Hecate’s voice primly.

“I fail to see why that’s such a bad thing.”

“It isn’t,” PIppa says. “But there’s more to life than just magic, Hecate. More to life than is strictly ‘useful.’”

“Such as?”

Pippa sighs. “Language. Dance, mathematics, technology, art. Take your pick.”

“All of those things can be beneficial to one’s understanding of—”

“But they don’t _have_ to be. That’s all I’m saying. Sometimes it’s good to learn something… just for the sake of learning it. Because you’re curious, or it interests you, or you like it. I merely want my students to understand that magic doesn’t have to be the end all-be all in their lives. And even if it is, that there’s magic in the world outside our little bubble.”

Hecate purses her lips.  “I suppose... learning another language could have _some_ positive side effects.” Then, almost muttered: “Even if it is French.”

Pippa rolls her eyes, but silently feels a thrill at finally having cracked Hecate open, just a bit. Her shoulders are less stiff, her expression more relaxed, and even if they don’t agree—hardly ever do—she loves Hecate’s dedication. Her passion. Her complete and overwhelming love for the Craft, even if others don’t see it that way.

Across from her, Hecate taps her fingers against her cup.

“Ada’s hired a new Art Mistress.”

Pippa blinks, less so at what she says but the way she says it, almost carefully, unsure.

“You sound displeased,” Pippa ventures, watching her face carefully.

“It's valuable time that could be used to practice potions now spent...scribbling.”

Pippa resist the urge to roll her eyes. “I'm sure they’ll do more than that.”

“Not if Miss Mould has anything to say about it, I'm sure.”

“I don't understand. You love—” She stops, thinks of the years between them. “You used to love art. I distinctly remember having to drag you from the art museum during our field trips.”

“That's different.”

“How so?”

Hecate sighs, almost exasperated, and Pippa bites down a smile at how adorable it is; how much Hecate would loathe being described as such. “They were fully trained witches who used art as an expression of the Craft, not...splattering clay.”

“If I remember correctly, you said Mildred drew her answers on her admission test.”

“Yes. In blatant violation of the rules—”

“But she used art to communicate Craft.” Pippa shrugs, hiding a smile behind her tea at Hecate’s scowl. “Maybe Miss Mould intends to help them do the same.”

Hecate sniffs. “I'd forgotten how infuriatingly optimistic you are.”

Pippa winces, covering it with a gentle, “And you always see the negative, Hecate. It's not good for you.”

“It's my job. Someone has to worry about these things or—”

She stops, and looks away, and Pippa feels her stomach drop.

“Or what? What do you think will happen?”

Hecate doesn’t answer, and when the silence spreads too thin, Pippa sighs, and tries to steer the conversation back to lighter territory. “Maybe it will be good for them. To have some fun, relieve some stress. They might concentrate better.” If anything, Hecate’s expression sours even more.  “You seem skeptical.”

Hecate shakes her head, and her voice, when she speaks, is almost hopeless. “They're not prepared, Pippa. All the training in the world won't matter if they don't focus, and everything around us seems bent on distraction. The Founding Stone, Agatha, even—”

She stops abruptly, lips sealing together as she glares at the floor.

“Even what?” Pippa coaxes, careful to keep her voice low and even.

Hecate fiddles with her teacup, silent for a long moment, and Pippa can almost see the battle going on inside her, her need to talk to someone warring with her belief that she shouldn't have to. Shouldn't _need_ to.

“Ada enacted a friendship trap on Ethel and Mildred,” she says finally, quietly, like it might get out. “A last ditch attempt to get them to cooperate, I suspect.”

Pippa frowns, feels the stirrings of something like anger in her gut at such an irrational, poorly conceived treatment. Feels a sympathy for Mildred that she’s always felt, a reflection of herself, and Hecate.

But she knows how devoted Hecate is to Ada, understands her reticence, and tries to keep her own feelings on the matter to herself, at least for now.

“That seems unwise,” she offers, but nothing more. “Did it help?”

“Eventually. But it won't change things.”

“How can you be so sure?”

Pippa’s startled when Hecate stands, sets her teacup on the table and paces a few feet away, staring out the window at the dark creeping over the castle. “I know people like her. They always get their way, no matter how disastrous.”

Pippa’s irritation flares. “You can't keep blaming Mildred for everything that goes wrong. She's a child, and frankly, doesn't deserve the ire you seem to hold for her.”

Hecate looks back over her shoulder, surprised, and then, almost amused. “Actually, I was speaking about Ethel.”

“Ethel? Your golden girl?”

Hecate scoffs. “Hardly. She's equally if not more so responsible for the feud between them.”

“Then why not do something about it?”

Hecate turns, arms at her sides, just a fluttering of her hands betraying her agitation. “What am I supposed to do? Expel her?”

“Yes. If needs must—”

“I can't.”

“Why not?”

Hecate looks away again, turns her back to Pippa in a way that makes Pippa feel cold, unwanted. But Hecate’s arms come up to cross over her chest, her head slightly bowed, and Pippa recognizes the gesture, the protective nature of it, the resignation, and it clicks.

“Her mother’s on the board, isn’t she?” Hecate doesn’t respond, and Pippa sighs, pushing herself to her feet, and carefully, tentatively, places what she hopes is a comforting hand on Hecate’s shoulder. “What happened?”

Hecate sighs, dropping her arms, and, Pippa thinks gratefully, leans into the touch. “Mrs. Hallow mirrored me at the start of term. She made it quite clear that any change in Ethel's status would have consequences. For everyone.”

She says it slowly, purposefully, and Pippa swallows her gasp.

“Ada.”

Hecate nods, looks so forlorn, so lost, that it’s all Pippa can do to keep herself from wrapping her arms around her and holding tight. Instead, she settles for squeezing her shoulder, and saying softly, “That's why you defend Ethel. Why Mildred is the scapegoat.” She pauses, studies the shadows on Hecate’s face. She doesn’t want to burden her any further, but she needs to know, if she doesn’t already, “It isn't fair, Hecate.”

“Of course it isn't,” Hecate returns, and looks at Pippa, almost pleadingly. “But what choice do I have?”

“Have you spoken to Miss Cackle about it?”

“Ada has enough to contend with at the moment. And she's...distracted. She isn't thinking clearly. Leaving the Founding Stone on display, the friendship trap…” Hecate meets Pippa’s gaze, and Pippa can tell she wants her to hear something, something she isn’t quite saying. “She thought I enacted a fire drill without her permission. And she was pleased.”

Pippa rubs her hand over Hecate’s arm, relieved when she doesn’t pull away. “That's not like her.”

Hecate says nothing for a long moment, then, a guilt-ridden whisper, like she’s betraying Ada even for thinking it, “I worry we haven't yet seen the fallout from Agatha’s attempts on the school last year. I worry—” She closes her eyes and laughs softly at her herself. “I worry about everything.”

“I know you do,” Pippa murmurs. “But you’re not alone. You have Ada, and the staff. You have me.” Hecate looks up at her, eyes bright, lower lip trembling, and it’s everything Pippa can do not to kiss her. Instead, she wraps her arms around Hecate’s neck and tugs her close, into a warm hug. “You’re not alone, Hiccup.”

Hecate stands stiffly for a moment, then relaxes, curling her arms around Pippa’s back and burying her face in Pippa’s neck, and if feels like it did when they were young—like no matter how bad things got, or how ridiculous, or how scary, holding Hecate always felt like home. Safe, where nothing could hurt her and never would.

She knows now that’s not true—knows just exactly how much Hecate can hurt her, how much damage she can cause, but Pippa believes, because she has to believe, that it’ll be better this time. She has to take that chance, because the alternative, leaving, abandoning Hecate out of her own fear of getting hurt again, is unfathomable.

Hecate needs her, Pippa knows.

And Pippa needs her. She always has, thinks she probably always will, and the thought brings a smile to her face now, where it used to bring tears.

“I’m so happy to have you back,” PIppa says, without thinking, without her own permission. Hecate tenses for a moment, then tightens her hold, and Pippa feels her lips move against her neck, whisper soft.

“Me too, Pipsqueak.”

 


	3. 'Ethel Everywhere'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything is so quiet, so still. Even Hecate, poised in front of a large telescope, looks like glass. She doesn't notice Pippa’s arrival, and that, almost more than Ada’s remarks, makes her nervous.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- post ep tag for s2e3 'ethel everywhere'  
> \- sorry this is so late! this one was rough. i had conflicting feels.  
> \- thank you to @raumolirien for the beta as always! <3  
> \- trigger warning for instances of emotional abuse / violation of boundaries

Long distance transfer isn't something Pippa enjoys. It makes her a bit queasy, even still, and her head feel light, so when she appears on the roof of Cackle’s, she takes a moment to get her bearings. 

Everything is so quiet, so still. Even Hecate, poised in front of a large telescope, looks like glass. She doesn't notice Pippa’s arrival, and that, almost more than Ada’s remarks, makes her nervous. 

She knows she shouldn't have called. Knows Hecate won't appreciate her “checking in,” but it's been two weeks, and they've hardly spoken. Well, Pippa amends to herself, Hecate has barely spoken to her. She's tried calling multiple times, always unanswered, a brief, curt message on her Maglet informing her Hecate is busy, or unavailable, or exhausted. There’s always an apology, for what little good it does. 

She doesn't think she's done anything wrong, but then, she hadn't thought the last time either, and the similarity in Hecate’s behavior makes her stomach clench and her throat tighten.

She doesn't want to lose her.

It’s what prompted her to call Ada, to ask, somewhat haltingly, if Hecate was alright. She’d known without a word, by the way Ada sighed, the way her shoulders fell forwards, that no, everything was not alright. 

Ada hadn’t said much, and Pippa doesn’t blame her. She doesn’t want to betray Hecate’s trust, doesn’t want Ada to betray that trust, but she had to know if it was just her Hecate’s been avoiding. Ada’s reassurances that it isn’t did little to calm her, but it was Ada’s admission, her quiet, careful, “I think I may have made a grave mistake” that prompted Pippa to finish the call, inform her deputy she’d be stepping out, and transfer to Hecate’s side. 

Taking a deep breath, Pippa steps from the shadows into the moonlight and fakes an air of nonchalance she’s sure anyone could see right through. 

“Nice night.”

Hecate startles, whirling around, fingers flexed then immediately curling. It’s only a moment, but she looks ready to lash out, her stance defensive before she blinks, dropping her arms, her shoulders, nervously rubbing her thumb and forefinger together at her sides. 

“Pippa. What are you doing here?”

The question is pointless. She can tell by the tremor in Hecate’s voice that she knows exactly why Pippa is here, but if she wants to play the game then fine, Pippa thinks. 

“Ada told me you'd be up here.”

Hecate frowns. “Ada?”

“When I didn't hear from you I got worried. Apparently I'm not the only one.”

Hecate shifts, shoulders pulled back, uses her height to her advantage and narrows her gaze, but Pippa can tell it isn't anger, not really, not as much as Hecate would like her to think it is.

“And what exactly is your cause for concern?”

Pippa huffs. “This, Hecate,” she says, gesturing at the space between them. “Ada says you've been even more withdrawn than usual. Foregoing your afternoon tea, ignoring my calls, not even making an appearance at a staff member’s birthday party.”

Hecate twitches and turns back to the telescope, her voice sharp and cold.

“I believe attendance requires an invitation.”

Pippa scoffs. “That's what you're cross about? Miss Drill’s birthday party?”

“I'm not cross,” Hecate says stiffly. “Miss Drill can do what she likes with whomever she likes. It's none of my concern.”

Pippa’s about to retort when she catches sight of Hecate’s hands, curled into fists at her sides. It's a familiar gesture, one she saw often at school, and almost always meant there was more to what was going on in her head than Pippa understood. Always another layer, something she kept hidden, buried, and Pippa sighs. 

“If you're not cross then why are you avoiding me?”

When Hecate doesn’t respond, Pippa folds her arms across her chest and does her best to look imposing, keeps the anger she’s mounted from fading in the wake of Hecate’s nervous posture, the hard set of her shoulders.

“I’m not. I told you—”

“A lie,” she snaps, and even with her back turned, Pippa can tell she flinches.“You lied to me, Hecate. You're lying to me right now.” 

Hecate says nothing, and Pippa can barely see her in the moonlight. She looks like a shadow, cast across the cold stone, and Pippa does her best not to find that fitting. The longer she’s silent, the more Pippa feels her hope dwindle away, piece by piece until all she’s left with is resignation and a heartbreak she refuses to show. Not again. 

Summoning what little courage she has left, Pippa squares her shoulders and says clearly, “If you don't want to speak to me anymore, at least this time have the courtesy to tell me to my face.”

She knows it’s somewhat of a low blow, but it works—Hecate turns sharply, steps forward, reaches out into the space between them and then falls away, presses her hand against her thigh, her voice desperate and all too loud in the still night.  _ “No. _ No, it’s not—” She shakes her head, and takes another step toward Pippa, though she doesn’t move to touch her. “It was never that.” 

“Then what?”

Hecate blinks, and Pippa can see her more clearly now that she’s stepped into the moonlight, sees the tired lines around her eyes, sees the way her lips move with no sound, trying, Pippa knows, to give her answer. 

“I'm not—I haven't been...” 

She stops and starts and as much as it frustrates Pippa that she’s routinely incapable of voicing her emotions, she’s trying to understand. Starting to realize that it isn’t that Hecate’s hiding, not from her—but that she doesn’t know, that she never learned how to express what she feels. That no one ever taught her. 

So Pippa waits, as patient as she can be, and isn’t surprised when Hecate says, somewhat weakly, “I'm not much fun to be around.” As if that explains everything. 

As if it would even matter to Pippa in the slightest. 

Pippa feels her annoyance flair again, but this time it isn’t at Hecate. It’s at Miss Drill, and Ada, too, and she wishes just once the world would give Hecate a break. One week without something that seems to tear her up inside. One week where she could smile. 

Pippa misses her smile. 

Shaking her head, she moves that much closer, relieved when Hecate doesn’t step back. “I don’t need you to be fun,” she says honestly. “I just need you to be you.” 

Hecate frowns, like she doesn’t understand the words. “But—that isn’t enough.” 

It’s half a statement, half a question, and Pippa tries to rein in her own fury at whoever made her feel this way. At everyone who's ever cast her aside. “Yes, it is,” she says firmly, hopes—prays—Hecate will believe it. 

She doesn’t.  

She turns instead, away from Pippa toward the telescope, fingers gently tracing over the decorative carvings. 

“I thought—I've worked very hard,” she says haltingly, staring out at the darkened landscape. “To build a home here. I know not many people—” She purses her lips for a moment, and Pippa resists the urge to reach out, to touch her, unsure if it would be welcome. “I know I'm not well liked. I never have been, and that's always been fine.” She shrugs, like it doesn’t matter, but Pippa can see how much it matters, how much it always has. “But here, I felt...tolerated, at least. I don't—” Hecate stops, and Pippa can almost see her gathering her thoughts, rearranging them, trying to parse them into something suitable, something Pippa can understand.  

“The people here love you, Hecate,” she says softly.

Hecate turns, her smile heartbreakingly sad. “No, they don’t. They have no reason to.”

Pippa shakes her head. “Love isn’t about reason. It isn’t something we can help or control, it just is.”

She thinks of her own love for Hecate, the way it never quieted, a constant presence in her life from the time she was eleven years old. She doesn’t know who she would be anymore, without that love. Regardless of whether it’s reciprocated, she knows it’s defined her, will continue to define her, no matter what happens.    


She thinks of the way it pulls at her now, desperate to reach out, to touch and hold and comfort.  She wishes Hecate would let her. Wishes she were brave enough to try. 

Instead, she licks her lips, and broaches gently, “What happened? With Ada.” 

Hecate frowns. “I don’t know what you mean,” she says, but it’s honest, genuine confusion, and Pippa hesitates. 

“She thinks you’re angry with her, I believe,” Pippa hedges. “She said she may have done something… regrettable.” 

Pippa can see the moment it registers, sees Hecate curl in on herself, and Pippa can’t stop herself from squeezing Hecate’s arm tightly, from trying to bring her back. “We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.” 

Hecate shakes her head. “It’s nothing. I never should have given the impression—” She cuts herself off, looks down at the ground between them, looks ashamed. “It’s not her fault. She doesn’t know.”

“Know what?” Pippa presses softly.

Hecate shakes her head, her lips pressed together in a tight, thin line before she speaks. “I don’t trust Miss Mould,” she says after a moment, and the non-sequitur throws Pippa off balance, makes her frown.

“The new art teacher?”

“There’s something...I don’t know what. I was looking for answers, and Ada… summoned me.”

She says it flatly, almost carelessly, but Pippa feels the color drain from her cheeks. “Without your consent?”

Hecate purses her lips. “We have a standing arrangement. In an emergency—”

“But this wasn’t an emergency,” Pippa interrupts. “Was it?”

Hecate doesn’t reply, and it’s all the answer Pippa needs for her anger to flare, because she remembers. Remembers how withdrawn Hecate became after every break, every time she went home. Remembers shaking her awake in the middle of the night to pull her out of her nightmares. Remembers vividly, one bright spring day, her arm looped in Hecate’s when they both suddenly transferred, remembers the disorientation and the fear and the panic, the way Hecate had gripped her hand to ground her, even as she bowed her head before her father and apologized for Pippa’s presence.

She remembers the way her skin had crawled, the way she’d felt so vulnerable, so trapped; remembers the way he’d sent her back immediately, and she’d spent hours pacing Hecate’s bedroom waiting for her to return.

When she had, she’d been so still, barely able to meet Pippa’s gaze. “I’m sorry,” she’d said finally. “I never meant for you to—I never wanted—”

Pippa had wrapped her arms around Hecate’s shoulders and held her tightly, through her silence, through her hesitance, through her admission, so quiet, that he’d done it her whole life. How she was always at his beck and call, day or night. That he could summon her at any time, for any reason he so chose, and she hated it. That it terrified her, never knowing when or where she might suddenly vanish.  

Pippa feels her eyes start to burn, and blinks rapidly, swallows the tightness in her throat and the acid taste in her mouth.

She wants to blame Ada. Blame her for being inconsiderate, for taking advantage, for using her position as headmistress as an excuse. But she knows Hecate would never, ever allow it. Knows her devotion to Ada, the love she has for her, and tries to let go of her own broken hearted rage. It isn’t right, or helpful, she knows, but the only person to blame is long dead and gone and Hecate is still here, still needs something more than her frustration and anger.

“It’s not your fault."

She scoffs. “I should be over it by now.”

Pippa shakes her head. “It doesn’t work like that, I’m afraid.” When Hecate doesn’t reply, Pippa sighs. “You can’t help how you feel about something, Hecate. If it bothers you, you owe it to yourself to talk to her.” She can tell by Hecate’s stance, by the way her face is frozen in hard lines, that it isn’t getting through. “You owe it to Ada to talk to her.”

That, of course, makes Hecate frown. Makes her soften.

“She’ll understand,” Pippa says, forcing the words, then adds, gently, because she knows, _knows_ , it isn’t Ada she’s truly angry with, “And she isn’t going to push you away just because you’re honest with her.”

Hecate’s eyes jump to hers, wide and startled. “How—”

Pippa smirks, but it’s desperately fond. “I know you,” she says simply, sees the way the words, their weight, seem to loosen something in Hecate’s stance, her expression. “I still know you.”

And then it fades, the almost hopeful expression replaced by such self-loathing it takes Pippa aback, the question so bare between them, 

“Why do you care so much? After what I did—” 

Pippa shakes her head and grasps her other arm, clinging to her as tightly as she can. 

“Because you're my best friend. That's what friends do, Hecate - they listen when things get bad, they help you through it, just like they laugh with you when things are good.” She pauses, biting her lip for a moment before she ventures, so hesitantly, hopefully, “I thought we were friends again.”

_ “But why?”  _

This time she hears it. The rest of the sentence, what Hecate isn't saying, what she's screaming in every other way but voice:  _ why me? _

Pippa’s heart stumbles and it takes all her self control not to throw herself at Hecate, to approach her slowly, carefully, intentions clear. 

Forcing a smile, Pippa curls her fingers absently around Hecate’s necklace. “You're funny,” she says, unsurprised when Hecate’s eyebrows raise. “Did you know that? Not joke-funny or haha-funny, but you have a marvelous sense of humor. You're clever. So clever, far more than I am. And you think so deeply about everything—you care so deeply, though you try to pretend otherwise.” 

Hecate looks down, like she can’t bear the truth in Pippa’s eyes, in her voice, but Pippa doesn’t stop, doesn’t want to stop, wants Hecate to see herself how Pippa sees her, how she’s always seen her. 

“You’ve been through so much, so many things I—I can’t even imagine,” she whispers. “But you never let it win.” Tentatively, Pippa curls her finger under Hecate’s chin and lifts her face, holds her gaze when she says, “You have such a good heart, Hiccup. I love—” She stumbles. “—having you as my friend. But you can't keep running away every time you get scared. It makes me feel like—”

Pippa cuts herself off, bites down on the insecurity, but Hecate is staring at her, watching her so closely, and her voice, when she speaks, is full of care. “Like what?”

Pippa shrugs, dropping her hand back to the chain around Hecate’s neck. “Like you don't want me.”

“That isn't true.” It’s soft, but vehement, and Pippa looks up, sees the honesty in her gaze. Hecate works her jaw, trying to explain, and when she speaks again it's even softer, so low Pippa has to stain to hear, “With the party, and Miss Mould...  _ I thought...  _ perhaps if I am unwanted here…”

She trails off, and Pippa feels it like a punch to the gut.

“That I would feel the same. Hiccup—” She sighs, and without hesitation, wraps her arms around Hecate’s neck and holds fast. “You're an idiot,” she says finally, fondly, burying her face briefly in Hecate’s neck before she pulls back, unsurprised to find a comically confounded expression on Hecate’s face.

Pippa sighs, but she doesn’t let go, holding Hecate in a loose embrace. “You’re an idiot, Hecate Hardbroom,” she repeats. “But you’re  _ my  _ idiot. Okay?” 

Hecate swallows, eyes bright in the moonlight, lips parted. Her hands have fallen to PIppa’s waist, so tentative, so gentle, and Pippa wants nothing more than to kiss her, to show her how she really feels, what Hecate truly means to her, without the safety of words or longing looks. 

“Pippa, I…” Hecate starts, can’t seem to summon her voice, she just stares and Pippa stares back and for one, heart-lifting moment, Pippa thinks maybe,  _ maybe _ —

And then Hecate clears her throat and looks down, drops her hands to her sides like she’s been burned, and Pippa swallows her sigh of disappointment. Instead, she smiles as best she can, arches up and presses a kiss to Hecate’s cheek and steps away. 

“I should get back,” she says, knowing that no matter how badly she wants to stay, Hecate needs time. Time away from her, time to process what’s just happened, what she’s said. 

Hecate nods mechanically. 

“I’ll talk to you soon?” 

“Yes.”

She can’t stop the tremble in her voice. “Promise?”

Hecate nods again, softer. “I promise,” she murmurs. 

Pippa forces a smile, steps back and moves to leave when Hecate reaches out, a cold hand curling around her wrist.  

“Wait, I—” 

Pippa pauses, tries not to feel bereft when Hecate’s hand falls back to her side, the touch gone as quickly as it was there. 

“Can you—would you like to stay?” she asks.  “For a little while. It’s a clear night.” 

Pippa beams, feels her heart soar far too high, far too fast. “I’d like that very much.” 

Hecate’s answering smile is luminous, even as she ducks her head ot hide it. She steps back, shifting to allow PIppa access to the telescope, but Pippa has a better idea. With a wave of her hand, she summons a thick blanket and pillows and sits down, patting the ground next to her. 

“What are you doing?” 

“It’s much better this way,” she says, lying down, grinning up at a befuddled Hecate. 

“But the telescope—”

“We don’t need it.” 

Hecate pauses, unsure, and Pippa knows what she’s thinking. Knows she’s remembering nights when they would sneak out of the academy, when they’d lay in the grass head to head and watch for comets, name constellations and long dead stars. Pippa, always with a made-up story about this cluster or that; Hecate, pursing her lips and reminding her the stars already have stories.

“Not all of them,” Pippa would say, and even if it took hours, would eventually persuade Hecate to create her own fable, her own mythology, written in the sky. 

It seems so long ago now, and yet, not at all, and Pippa pats the space beside her again, coaxing. “Come on, Hiccup. Tell me about the stars.” 

Hecate bites her lip and slowly, carefully, lowers herself onto the blanket, lays stiffly beside Pippa, her head on the other pillow.

“I’m certain you know just as much as I do,” she says, startling a bit when Pippa moves closer, tucking herself against Hecate’s side. Pippa waits, holding her breath, until Hecate relaxes, accepts Pippa’s presence in her space. 

“I don’t care,” she says, burying her smile against Hecate’s shoulder. “I just like hearing you talk.”  


End file.
